Shades of Green
by Her Name Is Erika
Summary: This time, he kissed her and looked forward to a lot of Hawaiian sunsets with her this summer. Chase-centric. ChaseZoey.


**A/N: I was inspired by a story in the Camp Rock Section called **_**Regrets and Lies**_** by .britt. So, go check that out. It's really good. Anyway, I thought I should hit this section with a surprise oneshot because it's a little too dormant for my taste. **

**Disclaimer: Nope. Even though the show is over, Dan Schneider owns this show. Glad we settled that. **

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**Shades of Green**

**i. **

When Chase was seven years old, he had his first piano lesson. His teacher, Miss Claire, was actually pretty nice, but tough on the technical stuff. She bribed him with Boston Crème Pie, and he genuinely liked her so his resolve to run away melted.

His little seven-year-old fingers travelled up and down all eighty-eight keys with more expertise as more time passed. The piano became the "musical love of his life" and at age nine, he had a whole repertoire of music randomly spewing from his fingers, resulting in beautiful sounds.

**ii.**

He was walking along the busy streets of Boston with his grandmother when Chase saw something that would change his life.

Suddenly, ivory piano keys weren't his top priority anymore and as soon as he went home, he started saving up his allowance for the shiny black and white electric guitar in the music store window.

**iii.**

He was eleven, awkward, and even kind of shy.

Being in a new place and a new a school as big as this one, in sunny California almost awed him. Almost taken in by all of his new, and beautiful surroundings, he began the first of many trip induced falls. Chase looked up and blinked to focus his vision and found another boy smiling broadly at him.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Oh, uh," Chase replied, allowing the nice and cool stranger to help him up. He shook his bushy hair, and smiled the boyish grin he was going to be famous for. "Yeah, I'm good, thanks. Hopefully no one else saw that."

Hearty laughter reached his ears as this boy patted him back on the back, "Uh, I doubt it, but I'm starting this year too. I've already done my two hours of cryin' anyway."

"What?"

"Don't tell people, but anyway, I'm Michael Barrett. I'm in Peters Hall, Room 35."

"Chase Matthews," he answered, and smiled. "I'm in the same room."

Michael grinned from ear-to-ear, slinging an arm around his new friend, "You know, this is going to be the start of a beautiful roomie-ship."

**iv.**

Chase could trust Michael with his secrets, his thoughts, his innermost thoughts and wishes because he considered Michael like another brother.

Hell, Chase trusted Michael with his very **life**. After all, Michael was the only other person to see him unravel and become undone on what was supposed to be one of the best days of his life.

And then _she_ came by, rain soaked and Chase wore his broken heart on his wet sleeve and cried.

**v. **

"Sweetheart, you still play the piano beautifully," his grandmother would say.

Chase was grateful he had taken music as an elective. Just for one brief moment, he traded the chords of his guitar for the smoothness of those familiar ivory black and keys. Just for one fleeting moment, Chase played the black grand piano again and _A Million Raindrops_ poured out –

– three times, and counting, and then he realized he was going to be okay.

**vi.**

There were times when Chase was annoyed, irritated, and even began thinking of more horrible things to do to Logan as sweet, justified revenge. Sure, the rat down his pants was amusing and yeah, the massive water balloon assault on the girls during Prank Week was fun to coordinate. There were times when Chase truly wanted to shove Logan out of the same window he peed out of.

Most of the time, it was because Logan had done something horrible, and was completely wrong at the same time.

But something dormant snapped on the inside, Logan went flying into their desk and Chase was completely utterly surprised at the extent of his capabilities, and the fact that Logan was _right_.

It didn't just kill him to be angry over nothing at all, and let her slip between his fingers.

Chase felt like the stuffed giraffe – torn.

**vii.**

Zoey had been gone thirty days, eight hours, thirty-six minutes, and twenty-two seconds.

Not that he counted, and had a lot of sleepless nights because she had been that long. Because Chase really didn't.

And while Michael tried to get him out of bed, Logan told him to "man up, move on and forget about it."

If Chase hadn't been so wrapped up in bed with a cloud of perpetual sleepiness overtaking him, he totally would have punched Logan in the mouth, even though he did help.

**viii. **

English girls were way different from American ones, but equally sweet and very nice.

Chase really tried. He tried to date other girls while being separated from everyone he knew, and familiar settings all the way in California – at PCA, where he missed Lola's endearing dramatics, the obnoxious attitude he was long used to from Logan, Quinn's quirky ways with the potentially, most-of-the-time-dangerous inventions, and god, he missed _her_.

Chase later dumped them, comparing them to Zoey. Melanie didn't deserve to be strung along and deserved a non-pining _bloke_ – it was best not to ask what a hob knocker was either – but yeah, Mel cried with tears building to build up in her brown eyes as she switched her gaze from her black shoes to his face. Slowly nodding as coming to some quiet resolution, she sighed and tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Chase, I – "

"I'm sorry, Mel," and then again that boyish smile cracked through. "Any mid-dumping slaps are welcome. Even though, I'm accident-prone that way."

"You're too nice of a guy. I'm not happy, but it's okay. I'll live…" Chase watched a small smile grace her glossed lips while she tried to hide a sniffle from him. "Whoever you're in love with must be one special girl."

No words could be formed, and the silence was enough for Melanie to take as an answer, and she almost left. Awkwardly wringing his fingers, Chase again said, "I really am sorry it ended like this. It was a good three months."

With one foot out the door, the British girl turned around and laughed softly, dabbing at her eyes, "Stop apologizing or I will actually hit you. I'm fine, okay?"

"Okay."

Chase watched Melanie leave and raked a hand through his bushy hair.

His heart hit rock bottom, and gravity knew him way too well but physically made his body collapse into his bed with a slightly muffled, but also heaved sigh.

Lately, his life became a game of Six Degrees of Separation of Zoey Brooks.

**ix.**

England was beautiful in a quiet, sleepy kind of way.

But then the plane landed along the tarmac on a starry May night in California, and Chase heard the sound of settling – the sound of everything falling into place.

Maybe it was in his head. Maybe it wasn't. But he heard it, and god, did it ever sound beautiful.

**x.**

He saw her, and the first thing he did was fall.

Chase saw her face light up, and her eyes sparkle when he told her to "Turn around…" he tried to be balanced, and somewhat coordinated, but Chase saw her, and he fell. Twice.

The stairs was a familiar place for him to fall, and scrape himself against. He felt winded, and a pain descended on his arm. The pain descended on his arm, feeling a warm liquid that was way too familiar to him. Suddenly, Chase didn't care as Zoey ran to him.

It was ironic, really.

The bloody arm, and the only two people who were actually there nearly four years ago.

"Your arm. It's bleeding."

"Oh," he replied, actually glancing from his arm to her face, and cracked a smile. "Yeah, it is."

Because that's what happened when he got wounded in this particular manner.

Chase looked into her eyes, and saw something different – a glimmer in her eyes that made him think, and possibly hallucinate, the sparkle that told him maybe she felt the same about him. The soft touch of her small fingers set his skin ablaze for that brief moment.

It wasn't about his arm.

It was about them. Zoey & Chase. Chase & Zoey.

Suddenly, she leaned in, pressing her glossed lips to his, and he kissed her back. Every clichéd, post-kiss moment rolled into one hit him back in a wave of delirious euphoria. He heard the angels sing, he heard the popping of fireworks, and if he weren't standing, Chase probably would have broken out in song. It beat breaking out in song, High School Musical style anyway.

"Yeah," he replied, letting out a sigh through a smile. "I feel that."

Holy crap, did he ever feel that.

**xi.**

The prom-after party was amazing. And going to Maui was one of those things where Chase almost wanted to be punched in the face, just to wake up.

Honestly, a lot of things had happened in the four months he was gone.

And if he wasn't slow-dancing with his girlfriend, he would have freaked out at the sight of Logan and Quinn making out on one of the loveseats, and Lola and an apparently nicer, reformed Vince Blake sharing a dance.

"Chase?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't we ever deal with our feelings as soon as we realized?"

"Because as I said before, we were very stupid," he replied, with a soft laugh and could finally breathe freely, and said, "I love you, Zoey."

"I love you too, Chase," and there went that bright smile with the eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. "Bushy hair and all."

"It's a 'fro."

"It's still a bush."

"That you find kind of sexy?"

Zoey giggled, the rosiness of her cheeks visible, and answered with playful mystery, "Maybe."

This time, _he_ kissed her and looked forward to a lot of Hawaiian sunsets with her this summer.

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**A/N: I actually don't know where this came from. Kinda strange. This actually was a Logan-centric thing, and then it morphed into Chase-centric. It's kind of strange, but I oddly like it, but at the same time, I think it kinda sucks. I've also decided to stop being lazy and start replying to all of my reviews. I just feel like it's better if I communicate with the readers. So, yeah. Review while I sleep, kids. Wanna talk, feel free to hop over to the forums or PM me. Goodnight, kids. My bed calls. **

**-Erika**


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